Five years ago tonight, John and I had one of approximately three out-of-the-house, actually-doing-something New Year's Eve celebrations in our entire 27-year relationship. It was about to be the fake Millennium as the year ticked over from 1999 to 2000. Some people were buying generators and duct tape, in case of terrrorists and Y2K glitches. (Yes, even before 9/11 there were terrorism concerns, particularly for that night in major party centers.) As for us, we went to Disneyland.John brought our then-new Mavica along. He took lots of pictures from the Rocket Rods tower and inside it's a small world holiday. He took pictures of Christmas decorations in Toontown and on Main Street USA. Unfortunately, John doesn't know where any of those pictures are now, what file names to search for in hundreds of CDs of material. So all the pictures in this entry are "borrowed" without permission from John Frost's article of January 2000 on LaughingPlace.com. If John (Blocher) comes up with our pictures later, I'll post those instead.
Generally speaking, we had a grand time that night until about 10:30 PM. Cast members were handing out "wishing wands" and hats. The park's PA played a CD of stars singing Disney songs. (Is that alliterative enough for you?) The one that really amazed me was Tim Curry riffing on The Ballad of Davy Crockett. This became a little less special, though, as they played the same CD over and over. Numbers and colors and shapes were projected onto the Matterhorn and the castle.
It was all very pretty, but something less wonderful was happening, too, at least from our point of view. The park was filling up with people. Thousands of people sat on the ground in front of the castle--in the park under the trees, and in the street and on the sidewalk. I had staked out a spot on the side of the castle near the Matterhorn, where it was sort of possible to sit down and not be on the ground. John was getting antsy. He HATES crowds and lines and waiting. So you can imagine my surprise when he decided to wade into the crowd to try for a straight-on picture of the castle.I think he was gone for about half an hour. Twenty minutes of that, he was absolutely trapped in the tightly-crammed humanity. It would have been traumatic for almost anyone, but it was especially bad for John. I couldn't see him at all, of course, and after a while I got worried. I didn't go after him, though. It wouldn't have helped.
He finally made it across the street, made his way back away from the heaviest concentration of people, and circled around to rejoin me near the Matterhorn. From there we watched the midnight light show and fireworks. It wasn't a perfect view, but it was better than being in the worst of the crowd again.Then we went back to it's a small world holiday for a relatively peaceful, quiet boat ride past Mary Blair's animatronic dolls, tricked out for holiday fun. The Sherman Brothers' famous song was interwoven with Christmas songs, so well that I bought a CD of it. People like to complain that hearing It's a Small World After All over and over can drive a person crazy, but after the New Year's Eve crowd, it seemed downright peaceful and reassuring.
19 minutes and counting here. Happy New Year, everyone!
You can see why John wanted a picture!But this is what he had to deal with:
At midnight, the castle looked like this:

Pictures and video (follow the links to get to the video) by John Frost, James Hensley and Dave Mastanich.
Question Eighty-Six: When was the first formal New Year's Eve celebration at Times Square?
a) campfire songs
a) 1905
a) walking a straight line
Question Eighty-Four: Aside from being the Sixth Day of Christmas and the Fifth Night of Kwanzaa, December 30th is
*********


That film feeds into the whole midcentury nostalgia, too, but really it's supposed to take place in the late 1930s to early 1940s. But my book purchases were minimal compared to John's. He bought a bunch of books for me on Amazon, following recommendations and "also bought" cross-promotions from one title to the next. He got me books called Tiki Road Trip, Krazy Kids' Food!, Atomic Home, Going Home to the Fifties, and Southern California in the '50s. They're all full of neat pictures and stuff, but somebody should remind John sometime that I was born in 1957. Aside from one highly dubious personal memory, I don't remember a darn thing before 1960 or so. 1960s books, John! Not 1950s!
Meanwhile, I indulged John's penchant for modern designs with a craft project. No, I didn't do any craft work myself. All I did was buy some Styrofoam cones and shiny solid color wrapping paper from Michael's. The rest is up to him. See, all through the Christmas shopping season, John's been looking longingly at the cardboard cones representing stylized trees, displayed as in-store holiday decor at Sears and the Discovery Channel Store and probably Target. Now John gets to make little cone trees of his very own.
a) the Pentateuch
Question Eighty-Three: The Twelve Days of Christmas end with
a) four cooly birds
I
haven't had a chance to mention it until now, what with all the
Christmasing and the JW entry and the trivia, but I did ultimately buy
a real tree this year. A friend and I were at Target picking out
her tree, when this really nice, medium-sized, old fashioned,
German-style, short-needled one introduced itself to me and
demanded to be taken home. The Target people weren't allowed to
hold trees for customers, but one of them did anyway when I promised to
be back in half an hour. I gave my friend and her tree the bum's rush
home, dashed back, and got my tree put into my car by one of the Target
guys just as the sun was going down.
So
we did that. I cleaned up a bunch of Mom's old stuff, and John
moved furniture and put the tree up. I got to hang my favorite
ornaments, all the Peanuts characters and Shrinky-Dink Beatles, Santas
and scrimshaw reindeer, bunny in a bag, homemade ones from co-workers
and relatives, the goldfinch and other birds and the cardboard Kliban
cats. They were all in one box, so I skipped over everything else, the
ugly Harry Potter ones and ordinary glass balls and so on. I
missed the wooden block and Quasimodo, but the other good ones all got
up, along with two strings of bubble lights (one bubbler of which I
broke by stepping on it) and a couple of garlands. It came
out pretty well, not overdone or overloaded. It even seemed
worth staying up until 4 AM Christmas morning to get it done, along
with the wrapping of John's presents.
No
gifts of the Magi for us; we both got stuff we wanted and needed: a new
office chair for me, a new DVD burner for John to replace the one that
died after eight months of use. Under the terms of the Blocher Holiday
Meal Agreement, we didn't mess with cooking, but went to Golden
Corral. It wasn't fancy, but it was better than Boston Market.
****

One story about this practice tells of an Oxford student who killed a wild boar with
Question Sixty-Eight: In France, children leave their shoes by the chimney on Christmas Eve. In the morning they find them
If you celebrate Solstice, I'm just a bit late;

You are looking at an archive edition of
